


A Merciful Twist of Fate.

by Rahn (Rahndom)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Butterfly Effect, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/pseuds/Rahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regulus Black is brought back from the abyss as his cousin Narcissa loses her life. He is now alone, all that is left of his family is his imprisoned older brother and his nephew, age three, who he is now responsible for. </p><p>A life is saved and the world twists into a whole different direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was floating in nothing and darkness and the freezing cold of death, a spirit wrapped in the agony of those whose lives were cut short, and yet there was a sense of peace as well.

He was vaguely aware of others like him, also floating in the nothing. Of limbs brushing against his own in a dead-like grip that was more a limp caress than an acknowledgement from another entity.

But none of them seemed to care for one another. Not even their own names, much less eachother's.

There was no need for them to remember.

A slow building wail alerted him of something happening in the grand scheme of the nothing, the voices of a thousand nameless others in distress as they tried to swim away from a beam of the brightest golden light he could remember seeing its warmth permeating everything in its path and enveloping him in the smell of flowers and honey and sunlight, a familiar smell.

He opened his eyes, pained by the brilliance of the light, yet comforted by it until words trickled to his aching tongue and a sudden awareness made him move voluntarily for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Cissa..." he whispered, reaching with his hand for the light.

"Please..." the light seemed to whimper. "Please, my baby boy... Protect my baby boy..."

"Cissa... " he moaned, feeling a tightening inside of him. "What..."

"Please," the light continued to plead. "My life for yours... My baby is all alone... Please..."

He didn't understand, he barely knew the name of this melancholic voice - he didn't even remember his own name - but the urgency and the anguish, the way the light seemed to dindle with its desperation.

He found himself nodding.

The light tittered for a moment before his eyes, blurring in and out of existence.

"Thank you... Thank you..." it whispered weakly, almost inaudible and then blared out so bright the wails around him rose in volume and despair.

He closed his eyes against it, shielding his face with his hands.

And then everything went dark.

He opened his eyes in what felt like centuries later and only seconds at the same time at the same time his back curled forward with a gasp, his voice hoarse, his throat painfully parched as he vomited stale water and vile, his limbs soaked and freezing started to tremble as he struggled to hold himself upright and failed time and time again, desperation and madness filling his every movement until his numb fingers managed to grasp onto something sharp and hard and as cold as ice and he hoisted himself out of what seemed a liquid made out pure darkness.

He heaved and chocked, breathing into the moist, stale air around him as if it was the sweetest ambrosia, his shaking body sprawled in the hard stone island, teeth chattering against eachother as he struggled to regain his sense of self.

There was a word about to burst from his lips, a word that meant security and laughter in his damaged psyche, the small of sugary treats and warm blankets still smelling like soap and sunlight.

His eyes clenched shut violently.

"K... K..." he muttered, struggling with his unresponsive body. "Krea... cher..."

A snapping of air roared loudly in his sensitive ears, making his body coil unto itself for protection at the same time as spider-like fingers, bony and warm with the glow of magic, sized him by his trembling shoulders with delicate reverence.

"Master Regulus," a squeak of a voice cried in shock. "Master Regulus is back with Kreacher!"

Regulus...

His name was Regulus...

The lion Regulus...

His name was Regulus Black and...

For a moment in time he had been dead.

"Let Kreacher bring Master Regulus home," the voice whispered gently, skeleton-thin fingers carding through his soaked hair.

He nodded and felt the pull from inside of him as he was transported from the dark cave that had previously been his grave.

The following weeks saw him slowly regain his sense of self and mobility. Kreacher's gentle encouragement and constant care seemed to bring back most of the memories of the life he had once lived.

How many things had changed since his disappearance, he thought.

The Dark Lord was dead, killed by the child fate had chosen as his equal - the irony.

His mother and father had fallen ill and succumbed to their age not long after, most likely their heartbreak over the loss of their family and their beloved Master.

... His older brother had turned traitor to his best friend and was now residing in Azkaban for his betrayal, alongside his cousin Bella and the other Death Eaters.

Which meant he and Narcissa were the last ones left.

Once he felt strong enough to walk, he sent for his cousin Narcissa, as it had obviously been her magic that had thrust him back from the dead - only to have his caretaker and friend pull on his long ears in distress and pull an aged cut out from The Prophet.

Regulus felt his knees falter as he read the headline.

**MALFOY FAMILY SLAUGHTERED BY LIGHT SIDE ZEALOTS!**

He ravenously read the report of former aurors embittered by the light sentence the Malfoy patriarch had been given, had stormed Malfoy Manor with their wands at the ready and proceeded to slaughter each and every member of the household until no one remained.

... no one, that is, except for Lord and Lady Malfoy's only son and heir, Draconis Malfoy, age three.

Regulus felt a sad scowl curl his lips as he realized why his cousin’s magic, her golden, wonderful energy reached out to him.

She had been dying, she was was attacked and she was dying, knowing she was leaving her only son behind and, being a Black, had reached through their blood connection, the blood magic that bound their family together, to the one remaining relative that could actually take her place.

“Kreacher,” he whispered, his hands balling into fists. “Bring me my cane, please, I need to go out.”

The elf’s eyes widened, his own hands nervously clutching his pillowcase. “Is Master Regulus sure?”

The young man nodded, his eyes downcast.

“Yes,” he said, his mind already starting to plot his next move. “I need to go look a friend of mine up.

The elf nodded, slowly walking towards the reading room.

“Also,” Regulus called, his eyes glinting with determination. “Prepare the guestroom in the second floor. We will be needing it soon enough.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Regulus felt like a ghostly apparition for the second time since his rebirth as he stood before the man he had once considered his best friend, comparing the way he had remained short and slender and the other man seemed to have been ravaged by pain and tragedy in the years they had not seen eachother.

He tried to pull a small smile onto his face, and knew it didn't work when the man's dark eyes narrowed in distrust.

He sighed.

"Stop looking at me like that, will you?" he muttered, hand tight on his cane as he fought to look as menacing as possible.

"It's the first time someone I thought dead comes walking into my life," Severus said cheekily - or what he passed off as cheeky, which usually meant a small, almost imperceptible curl of the man's lips and a small wrinkle of his hooked nose - as he opened the door for him. "I can't believe you made me lie to the Head of the DMLE."

"If you and Dumbledore wanted the twice damned locket you might as well work for it, don’t you think, Old Friend?” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “I _do_ have something to do and it worked in all of our best interests in the end.”

“You got an Order of Merlin out of us and the title of Lord Black, Regulus,” Severus hissed, clearly trying to hold onto his annoyance.

“I did help the war effort, didn’t I?” he said. The ‘I fucking died for it’ was left unsaid; his childhood friend was not stupid enough to need the clarification… or the accusation, for that matter.

“And the Wizarding World shall be forever grateful,” Severus sighed, sarcastic as always.

Regulus laughed a little, glad to be connecting once more with his childhood friend.

And then again, Severus's face when he had shown up at Dumbledore's office had been comical in itself, but the smirk he had thrown his was the moment he sat down as if he owned the place - he is a Black and the smug smirk of pureblood superiority comes with his blood - and told the old man he was quite willing to reveal the location of one of Voldemort's horcruxes in exchange for the esteemed Headmaster to clear his name and help him avoid legal prosecution, _that smirk_ had been priceless.

Yes, he needed his best friend by his side. He needed him like he had needed him that very first night at Slytherin, right after his brother – his hero – had told him what a shame it was he didn’t have it in him to break the family mold, and that from now on they should keep their contact to the barest minimum.

He needed him like he needed him that horrible night in their fifth year, when Potter had dragged him back to the castle, a bloody mess of broken limbs and deep gashes. He had held Severus’ hand that night, despite Madame Pomfrey’s threats, whispering dark incantations passed down from generations of Blacks, praying to any and each of the old gods that he would do anything – become anything – if only they spared his dearest half-blood friend.

He needed him like he had needed him after the Dark Lord’s mark had been laid upon his skin, as he fell to the floor on weakened legs only to be caught by his best and oldest friend, as he felt the stain, the disgusting rot of the magic now slowly coursing through his veins, the brand that was now a part of his core, faintly listening as Severus – just newly branded himself – held him in his arms, his sweat soaked face hidden in Regulus’ neck as the other young man whispered apology after apology, pleaded for absolution – he hadn’t known, he had said, he hadn’t know it would be like this, he was so sorry he had dragged Regulus into this, he was so sorry, he had no idea and he was sorry.

He shook his head.

"Just admit you are happy to see me and be done with it, Old Friend," he said finally, nodding to the Aurors who glared at him and felt himself gratified when Severus pushed the door for him without making it obvious the other man was still limping and frail.

With a smile half deviant and half gratified he walked into the Department of Magical Family and Children, not knowing what to expect.

He had known Narcissa to be a right terror as a child, with her sharp eyes and loud willingness to get them all in trouble with their respective parents if only to save her own hide.

And Lucius with his sneers and his thinly veiled sarcasm and the way he was superior in every way and yet loved by all but those beneath him.

He could only shudder as he imagined the kind of child those two could produce.

The quiet little boy in faded blue pants and a curiously muggle red shirt with a strange turtle-like creature emblazoned in the front was certainly not what he had been expecting.

Then again no matter how horribly spoiled his small nephew had ever been, no child would be left unscarred after witnessing the slaughter of his beloved parents by those he had to know were supposed to be the 'good guys'.

He felt himself sigh.

"Hello, Draconis," he whispered softly, ignoring the way his legs protested when he leaned down toward him. "My name's Regulus Black and I am your Uncle.”

The boy’s silver colored eyes – eyes of moonlight, eyes of a Black – stared at him with hesitation, his little cupid bow of a mouth moving slowly, silently, before the tiniest hands Regulus had ever seen seemed to uncurl from the inside of his muggle shirt’s sleeves and slowly come to rest on his proffered arm.

His blond head moved, once, twice, a nod of acceptance.

Severus raised an eyebrow, turning towards the Auror escorting them.

“The Child doesn’t speak?” he asked, masking the worry and pity in his voice – that Regulus could only pick out because of the seven years they shared a dorm room, really – with practiced disinterest.

The Auror shrugged.

“Hasn’t said a word since he got here,” he said dismissively. “Healer Mortimer said it was probably trauma.”

“Possibly,” Severus repeated, his tone going frost-cold. “There was no official diagnostic?”

The Auror blinked, as if the fact that they had a completely mute, possibly traumatized child for two weeks without an actual diagnostic was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Healer Mortimer reported he was mostly unharmed,” he began, waving a hand. “We give him food and shelter while the case workers look for the next of kin.”

When the man fell silent, Regulus realized there were no further explanations. His lips pursed as his fingers slowly closed around Draconis’ small hand.

“You sick bastard,” he heard himself whisper, his rage and his magic and the golden threat his cousin had woven into him now pulling him to this innocent, silent child seemed to spur him upwards without a wobble, without a complaint from his still weakened physique. “Whatever feeling you might have had towards my cousin and her husband, towards those that were on the other side of this war…”

He swallowed.

“This is a three year old child,” he hissed, like a snake he was brought up to be, one hand curling protectively around the boy’s shoulders, feeling satisfaction when the child instinctively curled both arms around his legs in search for protection.

“May the goddess have mercy on your wretched soul, Auror,” Regulus said, his hand protectively over his child’s head – yes, Draconis was his child, he could feel their blood calling out to one another, entwining their magic together – just as Severus’ hand fell onto his elbow to take back his attention.

“Perhaps it is time we go back home?” the other man suggested, his voice a soft, icy whisper. “I’m sure your house elf has a meal ready for your charge and he will be more than eager to see his new home.”

“Now wait a moment!” the Auror growled, pulling his wand. “That man just threatened an Auror in Ministry property!!”

Severus’ lips curled into a small, superior smirk as he began guiding Regulus and Draconis away. Regulus felt himself smirk, they hadn’t played the ‘you are not important enough to warrant our attention’ game since they were children and his cousin Bella wanted to learn of their secrets.

“You are right, my friend,” Regulus nodded. “Come along, Draconis, we are going back home.”

The little boy looked up at him, eyes wide and silver and a little wet, then he turned to the Auror, currently calling for backup, and finally his eyes landed on Severus and the hand he still had on Regulus’ elbow.

He swallowed thickly.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

Draconis hid his face on Regulus’ hip with a soft yelp.

Regulus blinked at them both, then rolled his eyes. One would assume that his best friend – an actual _teacher_ would know how to act around children a little bit better – but then again, this was Severus.

He slowly ran his fingers through Draconis’ hair, making sure to comb it back as best as he could while, at the same time, calming his child’s little trembles.

“Don’t be afraid of Severus, Draconis,” he said as gently as he could, trying to imagine his mother ever being as careful with him or his brother and realizing he couldn’t.  “He is, after all, your godfather.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide in awe, his rounded cheeks coloring a faint pink as his lips trembled.

Severus’ hand on his elbow dug painfully onto his skin.

Draconis slowly, ever so slowly, let go of Regulus’ waist, his whole attention now completely on the other taller, darker man.

Severus hesitated at the naked curiosity on those young eyes.

“Rodolphus would certainly have something to say about this, Regulus,” he muttered, his body stiff, his lips pursed.

Regulus felt himself grin.

“I’m sure we will have a most wonderful conversation with him as soon as he leaves Azkaban’s tender mercies… oh, that’s right, he is there for life,” he said dismissively, doing his best to contain his mirth when Draconis, finally gathering his courage, reached with his small hand to curl around Severus’ free fingers and squeezed experimentally.

No wonder Severus was a teacher now, if the way his whole body relaxed and his dark pupils expanded was any indication.

“Uh,” the man hesitated. “Hello.”

Regulus nodded to himself.

As he had thought, Severus hadn’t really changed from the boy he had befriended all those years ago. He was still hurt and scared and poisonous.

… and also an enormous softy.

Draconis nodded to himself, one hand still around Severus’ finger, the other tightly clinging to Regulus’.

Regulus felt a small weight lift from over his shoulders, having this little boy by his side, having reacquainted himself with his oldest and best friend. It was as if the last few years had been nothing but a nightmare, as if the family he had always wanted for himself was slowly coming together.

As if the tears, the pain, the sacrifice had all been worth it.

“Severus?” he asked softly as the two men made their way out of the Ministry, each holding one of Draconis’ hands in their own.

The other man looked at him from the corner of his eye, his mouth set, his frown deep.

“You look like you want to make me do something extraordinarily unwise,” he protested, years of experience making him cautious.

Regulus nodded, his smile growing dim.

“I think…” he whispered, eyes set on the constellations adorning his cane. “I think I need to see him, at least one last time.”

Severus’ eyes widened.

“You are mad,” he said in disbelief. “The man is a criminal.”

“He is also my brother.”

“He is a traitor to his own values and spent most of our childhood making sure we knew how much he disliked us, disliked you…”

“Severus, please,” Regulus interrupted, oddly touched by his friend’s concern disguised with logic. “I need the closure.”

The other man’s dark eyes lowered to where Draconis was looking at them in askance, to where Regulus’ knuckles had turned white around his cane, and finally to the setting sun before them, slowly disappearing behind the rooftops of magical London.

“You’ll be the death of me, Old Friend,” he sighed.

Regulus smiled.

 


End file.
